Downton Poetry
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: Begins with conflicts from Series Five. This includes short poetry in the first-person point of view, offering insight from individual characters whose hardships matter greatly to the plot. Fourth chapter travels from Series Five into Series Three; speakers are Mary, Mrs. Hughes, and Matthew. The next chapter will include Isobel, Violet, and Rose as speakers!
1. Mary, Cora, Anna

**_Mary on her advancements with Tony_**

For all this turning and trembling in my bed,

I cannot think what good I've brought

To my son. How dare I, so full of my own wants,

Put the name "Crawley" to shame yet again?

Surely I should have remembered Pamuk;

Though a decade has transpired, and Matthew has died -

Perhaps it was destiny for my foolishness to recur.

Grieved am I, for Anna's sake -

She treats me far better than I've deserved.

I've asked her twice to keep my secrets,

And still - after years - she proves trustworthy

To me. But I wonder how she bears my wrongs

When my sin with Tony is, for Anna, righteous

Gain for her and that gracious man Bates.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Cora on the terrifying fight in her room<em>**

After all he and I have endured in our lives -

Two children's deaths, and poor Matthew's parting -

I come to wonder whether we were meant to be

Together. Oh how dreadful that sounds! to regard

Our marriage with ill thought, and yet

Robert would certainly agree right now that I

Have chosen "That Man," and have left him eternally.

To whom can I go? What can I bear to do?

My husband thinks I've dishonoured us, yet

This is not true. I was trapped in that room

When my friend the historian confronted me there,

Wanting me for his own whilst scorning Robert.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Anna on her husband and on her suffering<em>**

He strokes my cheek, so swift are his movements

Toward me - and I stutter, my face streaming

With embarrassment. He asks me sweetly

Why I am tense and troubled.

"Nothing," I tell him, averting my guilty eyes

From his purely concerned countenance.

I wait for a moment, and he - in love -

Welcomes me into his arms, not asking

Whether I want to weep in his warm

Embrace. Could it be that I've betrayed him?

After all we've been through together, he simply smiles -

How I admire such unconditional love, for it helps

In times of hardship. Certainly this is one,

Since the death of one cruel man has left

A stain upon many, casting its gloom with untempered

Maliciousness. All we want, John and I,

Is to form and raise a happy family;

But even such a simple wish as this

Seems absurd at such a tumultuous time.


	2. Tom, Edith, Mr Drewe

_**Tom on leaving Downton**_

What if I stay? What will become of me

And my life, if I do go to America?

My child deserves more, of course,

But would I be giving her less

Upon taking her away from her

Family, the only people who can care for her

Far better than I or anyone else?

Perhaps Sarah Bunting was right:

Perhaps I really am being drawn away

From all which I had once regarded

To be important. And then, I wonder

Whether my darling wife's death was not

Meant to be, and that maybe we'd have lived

Peacefully in a cottage, just Sybbie and us,

In a happy environment but nevertheless productive.

Because I feel unproductive; I feel something missing...

Someone. And it's Sybil, because

She inspired my beliefs: my crazy declaration

That I would marry above me - far, far above.

And that life could be lived contrarily to that

Which these aristocrats have - for so long -

Known to be normal and great, and so true.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Edith on her daughter's forthcoming move to Downton<strong>_

The more I consider that unorthodox sight

Of my illegitimate child next to Mary's son

And Sybil's daughter, how frightful I find

The life that I can claim. Though I wish it were

But a fake life, one from which I could escape

Instantly and proclaim, "I'm here, not there

In that darkness called misery." Oh how it grieves me

That I could never attain such happiness as Mary

And dear, deceased Matthew...though at least

He felt for me. All I get from my sister

Are remarks about how wretched I have it

In this life. And Marigold, my true sole treasure,

Shall reside in the abbey, a grand place for lords

And ladies to dine. But who is she, to share

In such luxuries as earls and countesses?

Wait! I have blighted her, with my naïve

Ways, and have destroyed my only chance

To make my life something out of a fairy-tale.

Michael is dead, and Marigold is alive;

Quite a fix I'm in, to even attempt to supply

My daughter with a good childhood

And myself with good spirits.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Mr Drewe on the trouble with his wife<strong>_

I'm caught in the simultaneous cursing and praising

Of my actions toward Edith and Marigold and Margie.

Why I'd agreed to take the child into my home

Whilst knowing quite well that Edith's wish

Was much more than one of detached concern.

But my poor, grieving wife has to suffer!

How could I have placed a woman of shame

Above mine, whose virtue is precious

To me? How can I, at the verge of heartbreak,

Allow this woman of the abbey her wants

To have the child my Margie loves?

A dream - no, a nightmare - is this my present life:

Two women to please, and yet only one can

End up happy. It shouldn't be mine,

How hurtful though it sounds. But I

Made the mistake of letting Edith win

Such lesser distance from her child than was before.

From Switzerland to England, my! what have I done?


	3. Mary, Cora, John Bates

**_Mary on Charles Blake and Tony Gillingham_**

The passion of his kiss still confuses my lips

As I sit here in my room wondering and wandering

Away in contemplation. I always thought

How happy he and I could be together -

And perhaps he, too, dares to share the silly

Little notion that I do: that he will not leave,

And that he will come rushing back to me

Like a child to his dear father when that man

In the most respected livery meets him

At the door. Back from the war, yes, precisely

What I'll deem the feeling when Charles returns...

Only, that is, if my instincts to believe our kiss

That night at the cinema was more than just

A kiss. How cruel it was! for him to have shown

Tony in such a way that Charles and I

Are far more than he'd thought, and that

Miss Mabel could rest assured that "Lady Mary

Will never again sleep or walk with Lord Gillingham."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Cora on Edith and Marigold<em>**

How it hurts to imagine

My poor, dear daughter

In tears over Marigold

And the child's father Gregson.

What agony she suffers

In the wake of Michael's death

And in the midst of her sisters'

Children! I cannot know

What I'd have done

If Edith had admitted her act

Long before I learnt it;

So smooth is the landscape

Of my family's privileged life,

And yet so horrid is it

Simultaneously. A life of lies,

Months of uncertainties,

Days of tears. It all blights

The best of families,

Who would never have thought

Something so golden and pure

Could turn to ashes in time.

* * *

><p><strong><em>John Bates on Anna<em>**

An innocent life is lying in a cell

Beseeching God for an answer.

Her call is bold, but her voice is so delicate -

And I am the one to blame for her state

Of dreadful misery. O why must this happen?

Can we not be happy, together, and proud

Of the life we've lived as man and wife?

Surely a future with children

And a cottage full of love

Is what my dear Anna truly deserves -

Not a damned set of chains

Clasped round her small wrists

And the cruel, callous air

Behind wretched bars

That I cannot break.


	4. Mary, Mrs Hughes, Matthew

**_Lady Mary on Tony's entrance into her bedroom_**

His words are pinpricks of hypnotic delight

So artfully crafted through his phrases and manners -

I try to refuse, to whisk away his foolish wishes

But suddenly I find that I, too, am vulnerable.

He, in his dinner jacket; I, in my nightclothes:

It hardly seems right after such a short time

Since the death of my husband. But wait!

Could it be that I've come to full circle

And finally, perhaps, I can sing the same song

I'd grown so accustomed to hearing?

That song was my golden-era, my race, my storm:

The only time when I could control my paces

And fight my own battles. Sure, he might try

To persuade me into making wrong choices

But now, I must savour his eyes and good graces

That compel me to him - wait, what was that?

My darling George! oh where is he?

The hypnosis is put to an end, and I

Sprint across the room and out the door

To find my son, to preserve the only

Treasure that remains from that very same past

That I most ironically seek to forget...

Or perhaps not to _forget,_ but rather,

To set aside. I have other wants now.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Mrs. Hughes on Mr. Carson's proposal<em>**

He asked the big question. I knew not how

I'd answer him - merely because it was Charles

Of all grand people, wondering whether I

Wanted to unite with him once and for all!

What shock! and what joy pass through my limbs;

Old I am now, and yet he still sees reason

To invest in a cottage, in a future, in me.

Heaven knows how much time we have,

But one thing is sure: at least my good friend -

No, _husband-to-be,_ will be with me for all

The rest of my days in this curious life

Filled with curious people and times and surprises.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Matthew on the pressure he receives upon Reggie Swire's letter<em>**

I cannot know where my loyalties lie.

Could they possibly rest with Mary at one time,

And with Lavinia shortly after? But maybe

My wish to be fair and impartial has brought

This quarrelling, this discord, between my wife

And I. Oh how I hate it, the sound

Of my dear Mary sighing with utter

Disappointment at my 'changed tune',

She calls it. And surely, if we

Cannot see eye-to-eye, then perhaps

There was a foul mistake at the altar -

But no! it would be foolish for me to think

That after all we've discovered about

One another, something fundamental

Is absent from us. No, definitely not;

I will not resign from my position as heir

Or my duty as cousin, or my privilege

As husband. To my absolute dismay,

I fear this conflict within me

Shall not commence to cease,

Or cease to commence its bitter, bitter

Possession of my heart's poor cry:

It wants to do Mary and the family good,

But for some reason, I cannot try. Presently.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued<strong>


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